


Keeping Up Appearances

by ThamesNymph



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThamesNymph/pseuds/ThamesNymph
Summary: Thomas Shelby is going to London and he isn't telling anyone why. Everyone assumes there's trouble coming. But Tommy has a secret appointment to keep that he doesn't want anyone knowing about and that (shockingly) doesn't involve killing anybody. (This is in no way intended to be serious).





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I watch Peaky Blinders I can't stop admiring Cillian Murphy's amazing haircut and can't stop thinking about how much work it probably entails. So it's only reasonable to assume that Tommy has to put a lot of time and effort into maintaining that haircut, which is what inspired this ridiculous story. Probably takes place during series 2.

‘And where do you think you’re going?’ Polly demanded, looking up from her desk as Thomas Shelby strode through the office, with that hard, determined look in this eyes.

‘London,’ Tommy said without breaking his stride or turning his eyes towards her.

‘What the fuck have you got on in London now?’ Polly asked.

‘Private business, Pol,’ Tommy answered shortly. ‘Make sure John and Arthur don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,’ he said as he walked out of the door.

‘Tommy, is this anything to do with Ada?’ Polly yelled after him, standing up. ‘Tommy!’

He was already halfway down the street. She fell back into her chair with a half-moaned sigh, rolling her eyes. Tommy’s unexpected departures usually ended up in a lot of money wasted, a lot of bones broken, and a lot of trouble with the police. She tried to calculate from the degree of abruptness of Tommy’s leavetaking just how dire the situation might be.

John walked, or rather sauntered in.

‘What’s Tommy going to London for?’ Polly demanded.

‘Is ‘e? He didn’t say nothing to me,’ John said, chewing on an invisible toothpick and looking absent. Polly groaned. The fewer people Tommy told of his plans the more disastrous they tended to be.

‘God damn it, he’s up to something,’ she muttered.

‘Cheer up, maybe ‘e’s got ‘imself a nice little lady friend. Maybe he’s fucking the Prime Minister’s daughter. Or 'is wife. Or maybe a princess.’ John began to laugh, a silly giggle that belonged to the fifteen-year-old boy trading dirty pictures with his friends in a back alley.

Polly gave him one look and the giggling stopped.

‘Sorry,’ John mumbled, chewing with increased aggression at the non-existent toothpick and dropping his eyes. He shuffled away, looking sheepish.

******

‘Tommy!’ Arthur roared jovially as his brother walked into the Garrison. ‘Come on, ‘ave a drink, on the house!’

‘All my drinks are on the house, Arthur,’ Tommy said, sweeping into the back room and re-emerging a second later with a coat that he had left there.

‘What about that drink?’ Arthur asked as he saw Tommy making for door.

‘Can’t, I’ve got a train to catch.’

‘A train? Where are you going, then?’ Arthur asked, beginning to feel left out.

‘London,’ Tommy said shortly, pulling his coat on as he walked.

‘London? What’s in London, then? Have we got something – Tommy!’

But the door has already slammed behind his brother and Arthur was left in the middle of the question. He stared morosely at the polished wood of the counter. He knew Tommy didn’t like him drinking so much, but this was proof that his brother was leaving him out of important business. He had just walked off, brushing Arthur off and leaving him behind, unneeded, useless. Arthur began to calculate how much whiskey he would need tonight to not spend the night moping.

******

Sergeant Moss was glad to see Thomas Shelby coming towards him near the station, since there had been some trouble with one of the Italian families, and he needed his instructions as to what the Shelbys were planning.

‘Mr. Shelby,’ he said, inclining his head.

‘Not now, Sergeant,’ Tommy said, ‘I’ve got a train to catch.’

‘A train?’ Moss echoed. This couldn’t be good. Every time Tommy went anywhere, he brought back enough trouble to last a month.

‘Family business, Sergeant,’ Tommy said, moving past him without another glance.

‘Well, have a good journey, Mr. Shelby.’

Moss stood, looking after Tommy miserably. This probably meant that the entire police force had to be on the ready to turn a very blind eye (actually, all the blind eyes they had available) on flagrant abuses of justice and damage to life, limb and property. But, Moss reflected, brightening considerably, it also probably meant more money in bribes from the Shelbys than he saw in three months of honest pay.

Now almost beaming at the prospect of the anticipated pay bonus, he thought he had better tell the boys to be on the alert to not answer any calls or help anyone, just to be sure they weren’t accidentally interfering with any Shelby plans.

******

The train pulled into King’s Cross at 8.45, and by 9.30 Tommy was getting out of a cab outside a shop in St. James’s. It was closed and the lights were off, but Tommy, there by special arrangement and he was in most places, was let in immediately. 

‘Ah, Mister Shelby!’ Monsieur Renaud’s delighted voice with its heavy French accent that he strenuously affected after over twenty years of life in London, greeted Tommy as he walked into the house. ‘Right on time, as usual, such a pleasure to have a customer so punctual. All my customers, they make an appointment for two, then come at five and are so angry that I have taken another customer and not waited.’

‘Your usual customers don’t appreciate good business practice, M. Renaud,’ Tommy said.

‘Very true, sir. Come in, come in,’ Monsieur Renaud ushered him into the next room.

Tommy sat down in the plush chair in front of the mirror for his secret monthly appointment with London’s best barber. 

His visits to M. Renaud’s establishment had to be a secret, because he was sure that he would lose a considerable amount of prestige with his family if he were known to have his hair professionally and time-consumingly trimmed and styled. They could none of them quite appreciate the importance of appearance as he did. Tommy knew that without his trademark haircut, with its suggestion of brutality in the shaved sides and of easy grace in the hint of a fringe, he would not make quite the right impression. As far as he was concerned, his time and money was well spent on M. Renaud’s services.

However, it wouldn't do to let any of the family know about it. He didn't think John would ever look him in the face again if he knew.


End file.
